


But blood is thicker

by Romennim



Series: Valar's Blessing [3]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Conversations, Elven Lore, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, POV Male Character, POV Third Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-26 23:14:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1706069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romennim/pseuds/Romennim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two conversations Thranduil has before performing <em>Cuil Erthad</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gandalf

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [hobbitstory big bang](http://hobbitstory.livejournal.com) at LJ
> 
> Thanks to my beta, [morena-evensong](http://morena-evensong.livejournal.com), for her quick and fantastic work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter set before [There's an endless road to be discovered](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1703978).

“He is dying, Thranduil.”

Thranduil, Elf-King, son of Oropher Orc-slayer, turned from looking at the desolation of Smaug and regarded the Maia who had joined him silently a few minutes ago.

He had never known what to think of Mithrandir: both Elrond and Galadriel considered him a trusted friend and advisor, but Thranduil had never had close dealings with the wizard. The fact that he had met him again after so many decades when the Maia had sanctioned and helped the Dwarf-King's endeavor didn't help his instinctive distrust.

But Mithrandir was an Istari, older than Thranduil and maybe even older than his father, and he knew he needed to listen to what the wizard had come to say to him.

"The healers say he will not survive the night."

The wizard was now at his side, surveying the valley below them. His eyes were hidden from Thranduil's gaze by the shadows of the night, but no one could mistake the deep surety of confidence in his posture. The man was set on a course of action and somehow Thranduil knew the next minutes would change his life.

"His time shouldn't end now."

Thranduil would have pointed out death was coming for the King Under the Mountain and so that statement was untrue, but he kept his silence. Mithrandir knew it as well as he did.

But then he replayed those words in his mind - _'his time shouldn't end now'_ \- and they seemed less trivial than he had initially perceived them to be (a banality Thranduil had no use for, after all); he heard them as the decree of an Istari, of one of the beings most suited to perceive from the Valar the music and order of Arda.

A foreign feeling shivered up his spine then and he felt naked in front of the world, as vulnerable and ignorant as he had never been before.

As if sensing his disquiet, Mithrandir gazed at him and his eyes were bright and piercing under the light of the moon. Thranduil felt pinned down and waited for his judgment.

"He will not die tonight, Thranduil, and for all the debts you owe his people and Bilbo, you shall help him. If that is your will." He added the words at the end, but Thranduil didn't believe it meant he had a choice.

No, he had no choice. He could feel it: the path of destiny was before him, and for all the errors and the forsaken promises of his past, he had to step on it. So, yes, perhaps it was a choice, but the alternative was really no choice at all.

So that was to become his fate: help the dwarf he had so strongly distrusted and opposed, the being who apparently still had much to do in their world.

So be it. Thranduil knew his duty and he would do it. He hoped the Valar would look upon him kindly.


	2. Legolas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter set after [There's an endless road to be discovered](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1703978).

He was meditating when the raised voice of his son permeated from outside his tent.

He sighed.

Truthfully he had hoped Legolas would not find out about this until after the ritual had been done. Some would consider it cowardly, some even disloyal, but Thranduil had been king for too long before he had been a father and somehow was still not used to being questioned as a parent. Because he knew Legolas still looked at him as a figure he could lean on.

Much was going to change very soon.

He was about to call out his permission to let his son enter when said son entered, fixing a furious stare at him.

Thranduil almost sighed. So that was how it was going to be then.

“You are my son, Legolas, but I would appreciate you waiting for my permission to enter before doing so. These are my quarters, after all, as sparse as they may be.”

Legolas didn't deign it with a response.

“Is it true?” he almost spat at his father, righteous indignation in every line of his body.

“Is what true?” Thranduil asked. Better to assuage what his son knew and what could be still concealed from him, before blurting out something that could anger him more. Again, someone would consider it unjust, but Thranduil was going to face something that hadn't been done since before his father's time and he didn't need contrary opposition from his son. He had decided and nothing would change his mind. There would be a lifetime later, hopefully, for gaining his son's forgiveness for something that didn't need forgiveness at all.

“That you're going to perform _Cuil Erthad_?”

Thranduil wanted to curse. How did his son get that knowledge?

“Do you deny it?” Legolas urged immediately, mistaking his father's silence for weakness.

Faced with the possibility of lying by admission and not omission as he had hoped, Thranduil suddenly decided that he would tell the truth. He had never lied so blatantly to his son and he wouldn't start now. It was not in this fashion that he wanted to present himself to the Valar to ask for a blessing nor to begin another stage of his life. He would have the same for his son. Who still probably didn't realize how far-reaching the consequences of the ritual would be not only for his father, but for him too.

Legolas' time was, indeed, coming.

“I do not,” he finally answered with simple and easy words.

Legolas seemed taken aback by his easy answer or maybe by the fact that he hadn't tried to sneak out of the question. He was speechless for a moment, swallowing heavily before continuing.

“Why, Adar? _Why?_ ” he asked hoarsely, despair coating his words. “You know how dangerous it is.”

Thranduil kept silent. What could he say to that?

“You could die!” his son finally shouted. “Do you not care?!”

Legolas had never seemed so close to strengthening his words in a physical way. Had he been a human, he would've probably been in his father's space, shaking him with his bare hands.

A pang of regret rushed through Thranduil. He had always known Legolas cared for him, relied on him, but since he had left childhood behind they have grown distant. His son had spent the majority of his time exploring Greenwood and then, when it had become too dangerous, hunting with the guards. His sudden attachment to Tauriel had only made the distance grow larger, and Thranduil's distaste for the maiden had been the final straw. Thranduil had thought Legolas would oppose his decision, if he knew, but he didn't expect quite this show of emotions.  
  
It seemed he had a lot to make up for. He could only pray the Valar he would have the chance to do so.

“I do,” he replied finally, and he should have continued, but, suddenly, in the face of his son's pain, the words failed him. And Legolas too, apparently.

“Why, then, Adar?”

The endearment slipped out of his son's mouth, emphasizing the hurt shining in his eyes. For the second time in his life, Thranduil had to avert his gaze. It was almost worse then seeing his own father bleeding out in his arms.

“I must, Legolas.”

This time the 'why' was softly whispered, like a plea. Thranduil gazed back at his son and in an instant he was moving forward, not even knowing why. But the next moment his son was embracing him, arms tightening almost painfully around him. A long-buried part of him recognized the instinct for what it was: a natural reaction to his son's distress. When he had been just a child, Legolas had always preferred and sought out physical demonstrations when something scared or unsettled him. This reversion was worrying, but Thranduil tried not to let it show and gave the silent comfort Legolas obviously needed and so he found himself giving a platitude he hadn't needed to care giving for centuries.

"It will go well, Legolas."

His son released him, averting his gaze.

"You cannot know that."

That was true, unfortunately, but it was not all.

"I feel it." he stated.

And that was also true. Since he had accepted his fate, something had changed deeply inside him and in the world surrounding him, as if some part that had been slightly broken, corrupted by time, had finally righted itself. _Cuil Erthad_ couldn't go wrong. The Valar had already blessed him.

"I don't understand."

Legolas' words brought him back to the here and now, but how could he say what he felt deep inside him without revealing how wrong and foolish he had been in the past? He was almost content now to have this heart-to-heart with his son and the chance to rebuild their relationship somewhat, but he was not ready to let him know how it was partly his fault what had transpired between him and the dwarves, and how what he was going to do wasn't just repaying a debt, but a way to redeem himself as well.

He tried, then, for a part of the truth, hopefully something that would still appease his son.

"Mithrandir blessed it." he said. "And I owe Bilbo Baggins-"

"Oh I know well what you owe Bilbo Baggins!" his son interrupted him, even if what really stopped him was the unexpected bitterness dripping from Legolas' words.

He tried to speak, but his son didn't let him.

"It was my failure, father! My error to remedy! You shouldn't-!"

Legolas' words cut off, almost choked, and Thranduil's thoughts were stuck between incredulity and aching sadness. He didn't want his son agonizing over his choice, as if his fault, his mistake in the heat of battle, was the only reason Thranduil was doing this. It wasn't.

"I should be the one repaying the hobbit, Adar!"

"Perhaps." Tranduil softly admitted. "But you have nothing to offer him."

Legolas lowered his eyes in confirmation, but when he lifted them up again there was fire blazing in them.

"And you shouldn't have to pay so high a price!" he hissed. "Actually, you shouldn't have to pay it at all!"

In a sudden flash of foresight, Thranduil realized he wasn't going to get away from the current situation without telling Legolas why he had offered so much to the hobbit. After all, his son was right: the debt he owed Mr Baggins was high, but not so much as to having to offer his own life. He had been able to give the hobbit part of the truth, one more easily accepted without needing to reveal his own failures, but it was a part his son would be never satisfied with. And Legolas needed to know his father's mistakes to avoid repeating them.

"You are wrong, Legolas. It is high time I pay my debts."

Legolas was already on the verge of saying something, when Thranduil gave him an intense look and he stopped. Apparently he could sense Thranduil was going to tell him something monumental.

“There has been a promise between the dwarves and I ever since Durin had built their home in Erebor. We promised each other mutual alliance and help. The memory of Sauron's folly was still fresh in my mind at the time and I didn't want to make the same mistakes of my father and his allies.”

He paused, trying to gather his thoughts and not let the memories of those times overwhelm him.

“What do you mean?” Legolas gently prodded him.

“The Last Great Alliance between Men and Elves. It is now told as something given, something born from necessity and logic in front of Sauron's threat, but the elves remember how slow and painful it had been to come together. The free people of Arda were already divided by prejudices and petty differences. So many deaths and battles would have been prevented if we had found agreement sooner.

So, when it was my time to rule and we settled in Greenwood, I wanted to make sure relationships with our neighbors would be strong, in the event another threat would surface. And for many centuries, elves of Greenwood and dwarves of Erebor prospered in mutual friendship.”

Legolas nodded. He hadn't been born yet, but he had studied and read the records.

“What happened then?”

A pang of pain and despair tug at Thranduil's heart. Most elves didn't know how or when relationships with the dwarves had begun to fall apart – and not just in their corner of Arda – but Thranduil could pinpoint when theirs had soured with the dwarves of Erebor. The arrival of men and the building of Dale hadn't helped.

“I do not want to talk about it.” Thranduil said, and it was true. The pain was still too fresh when he let himself think about it. “Suffice it to say that something grave happened and while it was not the breaking point itself, it soured friendship between myself and the dwarves and, after that, every single slight or difference of opinion wasn't treated as something normal between friends who were different, but as something inevitable between people who couldn't suddenly find any middle ground because they were too alien to each other.

In time it became harder for everyone to see why we had tried to forge such strong ties and we drifted slowly, but surely, apart, and the grievances numbered more than the acts of kindness.

And then Smaug came.”

Thranduil stopped. How could he go on? How could he tell...?

Legolas gave him a concerned gaze and stepped forward, but Thranduil waved away his help. He had lived through it. He could say it.

“Smaug came,” he repeated, clearing his throat. “And my duty to the old alliance had been clear. The dwarves needed our help, and I should have offered it.”

“But you did!” Legolas exclaimed. He looked contrite for a moment, for having interrupted him. Then he forged ahead. “I was there! I remember your offers to Thrór and Thráin.”

Thranduil gave a bitter chuckle.

“Oh, yes, and I gave them food and shelter, but, Legolas, what they really needed was their home. A home I refused to protect without reason.”

“Father, you're too hard on yourself! No one could have fought and won against a dragon. Your reason to protect our own people was sound.”

“No one could have won against Smaug?” Thranduil repeated, and Legolas flushed.

“You couldn't have know that at the time!”

It was something he had repeated to himself since Bard had slain the beast, but it was not really the point. It was a platitude he had used when all the reasons he had had to deny his help years ago had begun slowly crumbling down, one after the other.

So he said the harsh truth.

“When men and elves fought against Sauron, no one, believe me, thought we were going to win, but we did all the same. I should have remembered that and acted in accordance, instead of letting my pride and the dwarves' stop me from doing what was right. We all knew something was going to happen. Smaug didn't come without warning, without signs.” he finished harshly.

And that was the naked truth. He had been a coward, hiding himself and justifying his lack of action behind the safety of his people. He had wronged his allies, his friends of long ago, for pride, and for a st-... No, he wouldn't think about _that_ now!

The silence between them was beginning to become awkward when his son, who had probably more courage than him, spoke.

“I... maybe you are right. But I still don't understand what that has to do what you have offered to Mr. Baggins, Adar.”

“It is my way to repay that debt, Legolas. The day I refused my help I committed a grievance against a friend. I betrayed the oath I promised to Durin and his descendants. The Valar don't let this kind of slide pass, and it is high time I rectify everything.”

A deep frown appeared on his son forehead and it was achingly sweet to see: Legolas had worn the same expression so many times when he had been a child.

“You cannot have not noticed how my grasp on the magic protecting our woods has thinned, my son,” he pointed out gently.

“But, Adar, _your_ magic is protecting the woods! It is not possible...”

“Yes, it is.”

The confusion was replaced by deep worry. “But elven magic is our connection to the earth and the stars! If yours is thinning...”

“Somehow my connection to them is slowly dimming. And it has been doing so since Smaug came.”

“No, father,” Legolas said urgently. “It is not possible! Maybe it is simply harder for you to retain control. Every elf has noticed evil is slowly creeping in the world again: spiders, orcs, Smaug himself! Dragons are creatures of evil and their arrival is a sign. It doesn't mean there is something wrong with you.”

Time to convince his son and give him the blow that still hurt even Thranduil.

“I feel it, Legolas. I feel it slipping through my fingers. And if you don't trust me, look at Elrond and Galadriel. They both deal with orcs pushing at their borders, but the spiders and the woods illness, Legolas! Their realms are not suffering as ours!"

Legolas' expression blanched, but Thranduil had made his point, one that his son couldn't rebuke.

“I have to do this. Both for my people and for myself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Cuil Erthad_ from _Cuil_ , life, and _Erthad_ , union.  
>  _Adar_ : father.


End file.
